


By your leave, gods

by PleasingNight



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: AU, Afterlife, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, human sacrifice however is real and permanent, there is a warning for major character death but it's temporary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleasingNight/pseuds/PleasingNight
Summary: Titinius is a person with impressive magical powers and not a lot of human attachments, but those he has are strong. Back in Syria he fell in love with Cassius, and after their reunion years later he decides to never let Cassius go again.This AU started on tumblr, when good old “who the fuck is Titinius?” was answered with “he’s a witch”. These are parts of the story that I intend to continue; so far I’ve been avoiding writing more challenging parts (set in 53-51 and 50-43 bce). I suspect some things may not make much sense out of this yet unwritten context, but here I am. Yeet.I regard history, rather than Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, as my canon, but this fic uses certain conventions and details from the play (such as the absence of people other that Pindarus and Titinius on the hill with Cassius; Pindarus being captured during the Parthian war).





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 

I am floating over the sea of language, looking for anything that could belong to me. "Fishing for the moon". The moon’s reflection in the water is one of the things I can recognize - because there is such thing in my inner sea, too. The inside and the outside have to match, that's why you need a mirror for any enchantment.

I need things to match, if I want to regain my self. If I see it in the mirror, I will recognize it, and if I recognize, I will remember. How have I lost myself, you ask? That's the easiest to answer. I died.

My love, are you longing for me? You threw your arms and legs around me, needing me, accepting me, and suddenly I could feel hot tears in my eyes.

Sunset bleeds over the water. My love, you are the only person worthy of red colour, the only red letter on the page. When I unfastened your cloak, it flowed down on the bed and lied there like sun-red sea.

A ship is the same as long as you recognize it, no matter how many times the planks were replaced. What if there is no one to recognize it, you ask? Then there is no one to ask the question, either.

Maybe I can remember a lot of other things. Do I want to?

 

 

_Antioch, Syria. 3 October 51 bce._

 

“Please”, says Cassius. “If I stay, I’ll fall asleep right here. I’m so happy, but so. Very. Sleepy. Love you all. Damn, but we were great today!”

 

This is met with cheerful shouting. We are the winners. I grin and raise my cup, ignoring that the myrtle garland slips to the side of my head. Today we wrecked the Parthians, and we have full right to celebrate. No battle is beautiful, but the memories of this one are written over Carrhae - not erasing it, as I would wish, but bringing closure: blood washed with blood. No matter what comes next, at the moment, above all agitation, exhaustion, and pain, I feel peace.

 

So does Cassius: I have never seen him as relaxed and happy as now, although I have imagined it many times. For a year now, I’ve been wishing to see him with his guard down; to see his eyelids falling shut, his lips parting. I’ve been wishing - longing - for a lot of things, but why have I fallen for the highest apple on the tree? Why must my inability to reach it poison the celebration for me? I barely notice what is happening around: Cassius’ figure seems to be enclosed by a shining outline, and everything beyond is lost in the shadow.

 

Reluctantly and not without another toast, my fellow soldiers let Cassius go. As he walks past me, our eyes meet; he smiles. Are there hints of uncertainty and regret - like when you say ‘farewell’ - in this beautiful warm smile? Yes, I saw that, I’m sure it was not just my imagination. But what of it? It can be interpreted in many ways, and does not provide the answer I need. To get the answer, I will have to ask a question. I know I’ll never forgive myself otherwise, and that even rejection is better than a lifetime of second-guessing. He is my commander - but does it really matter now that he is about to resign and return to Rome any day? My only chance may be today.

 

I quietly leave; no one pays attention. If today is a lucky day, I’ve decided to make the most of my luck. Love and hope bloom in my blood, and if my hope is misguided, if he does not want me, I want - I deserve - to hear it from him.

 

* * *

 

“Titinius?”

 

 _Don’t you dare stutter and look away_ , I tell myself.

 

“Yes, it’s me. General, can we talk?”

 

He is still awake and dressed: does not look like he’s going to bed. Although his cheeks are flushed with wine and glory, he appears more contemplative than he was in public.

 

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

 

“You.”

 

Cassius gives me a puzzled look, but I don’t avert my eyes. Instead, I step closer and put my garland on his head. Framed by leaves and flowers, his face looks more beautiful than ever. His eyes, like the sea, never stay the same as a moment before; I could look into them all night long. I want to carve this sight into my heart, to remember him even if I forget everything else.

 

“You are always on my mind”, I confess softly.

 

The sea in his eyes freezes. I can feel the ice catch his face and squeeze his throat. I can hear it in his voice as he speaks. “I do not deserve you.”

 

Guilt? It sounds like guilt.

 

“Yes, you do. And I deserve you.”

 

We are so close right now. _Let me touch you. Let me love you._

 

“Stop. You know I cannot allow it.”

 

“You… you are leaving so soon. That you are my commander was the reason to stop before, but it would be an excuse now. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything in my life. If you don’t want me” - the words scratch my throat - “say it, I can take that answer. If I was wrong to imagine… whatever connection I imagined - say it. But if you want me - don’t reject me. Trust me. Please.”

 

* * *

 

We lay intertwined, and Cassius studies my face with the expression I could only dream to see.

 

“Where’d you come from?”, he whispers.

 

I don’t know if he actually expects an answer.

 

“Luna.”

 

“Makes sense. I was wondering why your skin glows.”

 

“Really”, I add after some hesitation, while he kisses my neck. “Luna, in Etruria.”

 

“That’s where Via Cassia ends.”

 

I shrug. “Ends, begins. Whatever.”

 

“Come here.”

 

His beautiful lean body radiates heat. I would never be able to stay away.

 

* * *

 

The new governor, Calpurnius Bibulus, arrives the next day, and Cassius is not my commander anymore - just my lover. I have a few days so full of sun that I just cannot discern anything beyond.

 

* * *

 

“I wouldn’t have guessed you talk in your sleep”, he murmurs.

 

“I don’t”. My hand travels along his back and stops near the shoulder blade, next to the bite mark. Leaving it felt good.

 

“It was just one phrase, but very distinct. _Of course I can do it._ Left me wondering.”

 

“No, nothing special. In my dream, we were on the hill, watching some horsemen in the distance. You told me to take your horse, get a closer look and find out if they were allies or enemies. I said ‘of course’. It was easy.”

 

“And which were they?”

 

"I don’t remember, even though I told you in the dream. It quickly changed to something about the sea, and you were there, too.”

 

He runs his fingers through my hair. “I will always dream about you.”

 

I touch the bite mark, wishing it could stay there forever. “Yes. Please do.”


	2. Chapter 2

We meet eight years later, drawn deep into the endless civil war. Should have known better. He killed Gaius Caesar. I did not kill Sextus Caesar, but it does not matter now.

 

We meet - embrace - and discover that some things do not change.

 

* * *

 

“You know what I’ve decided?”, I whisper in his ear.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“You are not leaving without me ever again.”

 

Cassius throws his arms and legs around me, embracing me like the sea would. He smiles - sunlight dances over the waves.

 

“Agreed, love. I’m not leaving.”

 

* * *

 

_Philippi, Macedonia, 3 October 42 bce._

 

 **I said, you are not leaving without me ever again.** Cassius’ dead body does not answer.

 

Slowly, I realize I can breath. Strange. The darkness before my eyes parts - or, rather, I begin to see in the dark. It is raining. Every visible shape seems shaky and uncertain. By contrast, I am entirely focused. What matters is simple and clear: Cassius has made a promise, and I will make him keep it. Some part of me, the part that has been waiting for the purpose, is relieved to finally have one. Now it is free to act.

 

Messala begins to say something, but falls silent abruptly.

 

"I must report to Brutus", he finally manages.

 

"Go. I'll stay and search for Pindarus."

 

Messala leaves very fast. Clever boy. Now, general, only the necessary actors are left: you, me, and… well, I really need to find Pindarus.

 

Unlike Messala, he did not run away: from the solitary hill, through the bare plain around it? Even in this weather, he would have been noticed before he could get to cover - or, at least, there was such possibility, and he is cautious. So he took his chances with hiding. He is waiting for us to leave, or so he thinks. In fact, he is waiting for me to extract him. He is close, I just need to follow his smell. On the other side of the hill, halfway towards the foot - a ravine. Good spot. Overgrown with weeds, nearly invisible both from the top and the base of the hill.

 

And there he is, among last year’s leaves and bones, with bare sword on his knees. Alert - aware of my presence - recognizing - scared.

 

He leaps to his feet. “Whatever you are thinking, Cassius _ordered_ me to kill him. I had no choice.”

 

“Maybe so. Maybe.”

 

Pindarus watches me with dark unsurprised eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

 

I don’t believe him, and don’t want to believe. But it is does not even matter: I need something from him, and I’m getting it in any case.

 

Pindarus raises his sword. He has always taken excellent care of it. Even now, it is clean: he used what brief time he had to wipe the blood off the blade. I hate it. I hate its wielder.

 

“Stand back”, he warns. But I still want a closer look.

 

I take a step forward; he charges. There is some blood left near the hilt, I notice with the new burst of hate as the sword passes an inch away from my face. There is a lot of blood left where Cassius fell, the red blood that the rain cannot wash out like it washes out everything, changing it without plan but with continuity: ways, views, the ground under the dead leaves. What was - or seemed - clear and firm becomes blurry, deceptive, slippery: so Pindarus learns as he slips and falls into the embrace of all-mother Earth. I step on his hand, then kick his sword away. Mine is pointed at his throat.

 

* * *

 

_Be damned the Romans, the day I was captured by them, and the nine years I spent in Cassius’ service, but most of all - be damned the wolf-eyed abomination that is about to take my life. Such things should not be allowed to exist. Gods, let them perish._

 

_I am a warrior, but I don’t know how to fight something like this. It dodged my sword without even trying._

_“_ I don’t suppose you will tell me the truth now?” - it looks at me with glowing, hungry eyes.

 

“Be damned.”

 

“Understandable.”

_The gods know my story. This thing will never have it._

_I feel the grip on my hair, pulling my head back. As much as struggle to break free, I cannot, as if it was a nightmare. I hear words in a language I don’t recognize. It’s cold._

 

_Gods, if you are out there..._

 

* * *

 

I say the name, devote my sacrifice to the goddess, and pray. _Guard of the gate, please, hear me out._ As the first drops of Pindarus’ blood fall on the ground, the sky darkens, quickly turning a grim afternoon into a pitch-black night. I can discern flapping of multiple wings, laughter, screeching, and howling: the sounds of the other side. All these are comforting signs: they mean I’m getting close.

 

I can feel a sudden gust of wind when the door opens. She is here. I hear the footsteps and turn to face her.

 

“Long time no see.” She sounds amused. “Ready to die yet?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Then what do you want?”

 

I tell her. For a moment, she is silent.

 

“You are asking me to twist the joints that hold the world together, to turn the road, to let you rewrite the book.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, what do I get in return?”

 

“Anything in my power.”

 

Once again, she holds pause.

 

“I might just have an equally bold request.”

 

“What is it?”

 

She explains. What I hear is unexpected, but there is no time to ask more questions: Cassius is waiting for me.

 

“Apollo be witness, I will do your bidding.”

 

“Apollo be witness, I’m granting what you’ve asked for. You may pass now”.

 

She opens the door, I step through it - and find myself just above the Other Sea, looking for what is mine.

 

* * *

 

Sunset bleeds over the sea. My feet touch the firm ground, and I see the island towering over me, the island with a cypress grove. I walk out of the water and into the cold, deep shade of cypresses.

 

The island is the meeting point, and I know Cassius is waiting there, in the middle, where the trails join. I know I’m getting close. I can smell him. He is mine.

 

When I throw myself at Cassius, he hugs me back and gasps.

 

“You are...”

 

“Warm, yes. Alive. And getting you out of here.” I take his hand. “Follow me.” He nods.

 

The cypresses encircle us like a solid black wall. “He is mine”, I tell them, and they give us way. “He is mine”, I repeat, smiling. If there is anything lurking behind the trees, it has no such claim. “He is mine”, I tell the sea, and it welcomes us. The door opens once again.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand”, says Messala. “I just… I don’t understand.”

 

“What is it, Valerius?”, I ask. Cassius' head is resting on my lap; I’m listening to his breath. I glance at Brutus, who appears frozen in place. “General?”

 

“Gaius”, he calls, sinking onto the ground next to us, “Gaius”.

 

Cassius smiles. “Marcus!”.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine - thanks to Titinius.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I could not stop my fleeing troops”, Cassius admits bitterly. “Got hit on the head. Can’t tell the rest very well. Titinius...” He glances at me, asking to continue.

 

“Me and Pindarus managed to get the general to this hill. He was blacking out. We knew nothing about your success on the other flank. Pindarus got the idea to desert. Did not go well for him.” I gesture at the dead body nearby. “Next, Valerius found us and brought news about your victory.” I look at Messala. “Hey, legate. Are you okay? You seemed kind of dizzy when you first appeared.”

 

“I don’t know”, he replies with well-contained panic. “Might have been hit on the head myself. Sorry for everything. I’m so glad you are well, general.”

 

“Likewise”, Cassius smiles reassuringly and gets up. Brutus tries to support him. “No need, Marcus, I’m really alright. Now, let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

On the same day, the fleet of Domitius Calvinus, that carried reinforcements and supplies for the triumvirs, was destroyed by the Republican fleet led by Domitius Ahenobarbus. On 31 October, the triumvirs, faced by the threat of starvation, gave the second battle, which they lost. Cassius and Brutus returned to Rome victorious… for the moment.

 

Marcus Valerius Messalla soon left military service in favour of oratory. He believed that he had suffered a hallucination at Philippi, and, naturally, chose to omit this episode in his memoirs. However, he left an account of it in his very last philosophical work, _On the Mind_. It has not survived, except for several quotes.

 

Titinius stayed by Cassius’ side until the latter’s death in the old age. However, the night of 3 October Titinius always spent alone.


End file.
